“The Husband Trap” by Tracy Anne Warren
My darling Adrian Winter, Duke of Raeburn,

I *heart* you; like I have never *heart-ed* anybody before. Oh Adrian, it will be my everlasting regret in life that I was not pretending to be Violet who was pretending to be Jeanette under that veil. Yes Adrian, I will forever curse the day it did not occur to me to tackle her scrawny translucent ass to the grown before she entered the church to marry you, dragged her off to a corner (where Lola, Mimi, Sven and Juan are waiting), to do some sort of Mission Impossible synthetic mask thingy of her face. For you my darling, I was willing to hide my true and glorious beauty, and pretend to be Violet who was pretending to be Jeanette. Only for you.

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“The Scorsolini Marriage Bargain” by Lucy Monroe
Claudio is the heir and king to be
Of the Scorsolini royal family
Married to Princess Therese,
You’d think he has it in the bag-

Wealth, good looks and royalty,
Oh man what a snag!
But poor Claudio’s in a bit of a state
Stomping around the palace being oh so irate
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“His Royal Love-Child” by Lucy Monroe
OK, so the plot of “His Royal Love-Child” seemed promising enough: Wealthy Italian prince who also happens to be the head of a wealthy shipping conglomerate sets his randy sights on feisty American girl working at his company (aka FAG). But as their relationship remains secret, FAG starts to feel insecure and breaks up with wealthy president of a shipping conglomerate who’s ALSO royalty but later finds out she’s pregnant.
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“The Greek’s Christmas Baby” by Lucy Monroe
The Greek’s Christmas Baby. I could change the title to “The Amnesiac Greek Tycoon’s Secret Christmas Baby with His Mistress Turned Wife” and that’s the book summed up right there, populated with all the elements of the good people at Harlequin.

And yet, this book was so much more! I spent half my time screaming into a pillow because I was so aggravated with Aristide Kouros, abovementioned wealthy millionaire with an unfortunate memory loss and soon to be father of a baby conceived at Christmas. And the other half of the time wanting to rub him in butter and grill him, he was that hott. Kebab me Aristide!
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“Sleepless at Midnight” by Jacquie D’Alessandro
“Lola? Mimi! Hey guys I’m back!” shouted Sheridan, dragging her shopping bags behind her. “God my feet will never be the same again” she moaned, sinking into the empty chair next to Sven at the RMB conference room, immediately taking off her Sergio Rossi pumps and propping her feet onto Sven’s lap. “Sven baby give Sheri a foot rub will you? You give the absolute best foot massages in the entire world!” “Glad you could finally join us Sheridan Sakura Carlotta,” glared Lola. “Look. Don’t give me a hard time alright? You know how difficult reviewing *that book* was for me. I just HAD to buy something to make myself feel better!” defended Sheridan, adjusting her Miu Miu jeweled hairband. “Plus, I came prepared for the meeting! Check it, I made notes!” Sheridan exclaimed, waving a piece of paper furiously in the air. “Sheridan, that’s a receipt” “Yes but on the BACK of it, I made notes. I am fully equipped to discuss “Sleepless at Midnight with you guys, and why I think you both should read it!”
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“Lara” by Bertrice Small
“So you know Sheridan, I’ve been reading a run of great books really. It’s been applaud this author this, and kudos to that author that. Do you think I’m, I dunno…losing my edge?” La Lola flopped onto Sheridan’s chaise lounge worriedly and shifted about when she realised a dove-grey Sergio Rossi sateen pump was digging into her butt. “Am I no longer the fierce arbiter of all that is fabulous in romance? Have I allowed every author with a pseudo alpha hero and thimbleful of grovel to sneak up on my blind side??”
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“An Anonymous Book” by an Anonymous Author

A RipMyBodice disclaimer from a highly irritated Romance novel reviewer: Dear readers, the title and author of this book shall remain anonymous to protect the gentle feelings of the author as this my friends, is going to get personal. Please also note that this review is used as an example of how NOT to write a novel of any genre, especially a Romance novel.

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“From London with Love” by Jenna Petersen

And so with this review we endeth the ‘Lady Spies’ series by Jenna Petersen. It is always a sad day at the RMB offices when one has finished another great series – it feels like you’re saying goodbye to an old friend, or friends as the case may be. Goodbye Grant Ashbury (aka Lord Westfield), goodbye Lucas Tyler, my love, my honey-bear, and now, goodbye Tristan Archer, Marquis of Carmichael – you, you who came so close in stealing my affections from Lucas. You three men are truly magn…what is it Mimi? Pshaw. What do you mean the ‘Lady Spies’ series is about a trio of beautiful and talented widowed women who use their wiles for Crown and country? It’s about the yummy-licious men! The hulking brooding men whose manly essence I wish to bathe in! Yeah alright, no need to start with the whole gagging again.

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What makes a good book? The Plot (that is, apart from a sweaty hard-muscled multi-talented (in the bedroom) Alpha Male).

We at RipMyBodice have put our fabulous, perfectly coiffured heads together to come up with ten amazing romance novel plots we think will sell BIG. Besides providing great reviews and entertainment to our readers, we’ve decided to add “giving divine inspiration to authors” to our list of talents. Remember, you read it here first.

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“Wild at Heart” by Patricia Gaffney
So let’s just say that not all Patricia Gaffney books are created equal. Maybe it’s because having read some of her better efforts, ones which are average or have slightly dicey plots don’t really do it for me. When Sheridan and I stumbled onto the copy of “Wild at Heart” by Patricia G at a used book store while we were on our tri-weekly trip to restock, I squealed with delight like an emotionally needy piglet getting its belly rubbed. Sheridan, being the natural Eeyore and pessimistic dark cloud over the horizon to my Sunshine Carebear and riding-on-unicorns self, took one look at the back of the book and handed it back to me, saying flatly “It’s about a wolf boy.”
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